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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889085">passion (redux)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm'>The_Eclectic_Bookworm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>paranormal activities [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Ghost Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:53:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a rose on the door.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>paranormal activities [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>passion (redux)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>why did i write a sequel to <i>spirit-touched?</i> easy answer! because both of those fics were born out of impulse decisions and minimal sleep! (also: because the level of YEARNING in this entire au appeals to me on a deep level. hell yeah intense and unconsummated passion.)</p><p>as stated in the tags: this is pretty solidly porn without plot. or porn with minimal plot, at least. despite that, it probably won't make any sense at all without reading <i>spirit-touched,</i> so keep that in mind.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a rose on the door.</p><p>Giles’s breath froze in his throat. He blinked once, then twice, half-afraid he was caught in some kind of terrifying dream. Their night was supposed to be tonight—and yet there was a rose on the door, tilted in that same haunting way.</p><p>Everything felt the same as it had—as it always did. The rose on the door, the chill in the air, the hope in Giles’s chest as he opened the door—but no, the room was well-lit and barren, no sign of Jenny. Only that damned ice bucket and a note tucked next to the champagne bottle, the smell of roses hanging heavy in the air. “Jenny?” he said, and though he knew his part in this horrific charade, he couldn’t keep the horrified quaver out of his voice. “It’s me.”</p><p>She didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t. In his dreams, in his nightmares, it was always the same—and this couldn’t be real, could it? Giles crossed the room to tug out the note, carefully unfolding it. <em>Upstairs, </em>it read, in that half-mocking, spidery script that he recognized as Angelus’s. With a shaking hand, Giles picked up the champagne bottle.</p><p>He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t. Whatever this was—and yet here he was, walking up the stairs as if hypnotized, knowing with icy certainty what he would find at the top. Knowing that he’d find—</p><p>Jenny.</p><p>
  <em>Jenny.</em>
</p><p>Giles couldn’t breathe. The champagne bottle slipped from his hand, shattering against the floor.</p><p>Lying against the pillows, Jenny propped herself up on her elbows, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She was wearing the clothing she’d worn her last night alive—only the gauzy top had been discarded, the skirt hiked up to reveal her bare legs and perfectly painted toenails. Without a word, she grinned at him, bright and electric, like the whole thing was some sort of joke and they were both in on it. “Rupert, I <em>did </em>it,” she said, and then laughed. “I did it!”</p><p>Reeling from a devastating mixture of emotions, Giles swayed, staring at Jenny like this was the first time he was seeing her—and really, it was, because for the last year she’d been nothing but translucent and untouchable. But here she was now, reclining against the pillows, hair dark and smile bright, and this was the night stolen from them, the night that had ended in rose petals like blood on the stairs—</p><p>“Rupert,” said Jenny, her smile flickering. “Was this—too much? I thought—I don’t know.” She looked ashamed. “God, of <em>course </em>this was too much, it’s just that—that sometimes I can’t control what my instincts do, a-and ghosts are really just echoes, and I thought—I thought that if I could recreate this, make it better—”</p><p>Giles surged forward and kissed her.</p><p>She was so <em>soft. </em>He’d forgotten that. Pliable and sweet, yet <em>firm </em>in the way she grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him back, and she was a bit cold but he didn’t care. <em>Couldn’t </em>care. How could he care about <em>anything</em> when she was pressed against him, solid and real? How could <em>anything </em>else matter when he could have <em>this</em>, could have it again, could have it at least once a month and even <em>that </em>was more than he thought he would <em>ever </em>have—</p><p>Jenny was already tugging at his braces, pushing them down his shoulders all but desperately. After so long separated, every part of this felt like they were running on borrowed time, and Giles’s hands shook a bit as he tried to tug her tank top up and over her head.</p><p>Jenny, however, was too focused on haphazardly unbuttoning his shirt to assist Giles in his own efforts. “Jenny,” he gasped between kisses, trying to get her attention, but was quickly distracted when Jenny used this opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, grabbing the front of his half-unbuttoned shirt and falling back into the pillows. Hastily, he adjusted himself to keep his weight from pushing her into the mattress. She braced her hands against his chest, tugging the rest of the shirt open; Giles clumsily got his arms out of the sleeves and finally managed to get Jenny free of the tank top.</p><p>They broke the kiss, staring at each other with wide eyes. Jenny was breathing hard and shallow, her eyes full of tears.</p><p>“Jenny,” said Giles, in an entirely different tone of voice.</p><p>Without a word, Jenny tugged his hand to her, placing it exactly where he’d wanted to touch her that afternoon on the sofa. Giles’s fingers skimmed the curve of her breast, brushing against the nipple—she shivered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut—and then his hand moved up to cup the back of her head, pulling her into a gentle, tender kiss. She was crying. “We have longer than this,” he said softly. “No need to rush.”</p><p>“I thought—I thought I’d <em>never—”</em></p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I-I was so afraid that I couldn’t—that I couldn’t be—”</p><p>“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence,” said Giles, steely and loving all in one. She opened her eyes, a tremulous smile beginning, and he kissed her again. “I love you.”</p><p>“I love you,” Jenny echoed, soft and shaking.</p><p>Giles wound his arm around her waist, rolling them over, and delighted in the solidity of Jenny against him. She was smaller than him, enough so that her weight on top of him was more pleasurable than burdensome—not that anyone could ever call Jenny Calendar on top of them a <em>burden. </em>“Help me with—” he began.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, <em>yeah,” </em>said Jenny very enthusiastically, and set to work divesting him of his remaining articles of clothing. Giles did his best to help, but it was rather difficult to help while lying down, and besides which Jenny <em>did </em>seem to have a fairly good handle on the situation. Awkwardly, he lay back, heart pounding with anticipation and arousal. “Rupert,” Jenny added, pushing his trousers down his hips, “I am <em>really </em>sorry about the whole <em>murder-reenactment </em>thing, I don’t know <em>why </em>things manifested like that but—”</p><p>“Jenny,” said Giles, “whenever I think of roses, I’ll now always think of kissing you.”</p><p>Jenny stilled. “Oh?”</p><p>Giles placed a hand on her bare waist, moved it slowly up her side. Tried to catalogue every single detail of the way her skin felt against his fingers. Softly, he said, “It’s—it’s the night you died, but it will never again be the night you <em>left </em>me.”</p><p>“I’ll never leave you,” Jenny whispered fiercely. <em>“Never.”</em></p><p>“And I’ll never leave <em>you.” </em>Giles kissed her, and then—felt her cool hand dip below the waistband of his pants. Skin against skin. He let out a choked gasp. <em>“Jenny—”</em></p><p>“Yeah?” Jenny’s hand was beginning to move.</p><p>“I <em>won’t </em>last if—”</p><p>“I don’t care. You said we had time—”</p><p>“This isn’t <em>just </em>about me anymore,” said Giles firmly (or as firmly as he <em>could </em>when his brain was clouded with lust), and tugged Jenny’s hands up to his. Hooking a leg around hers, he pulled her down against him, grinding pointedly against her until he heard her breathing hitch. Felt her hands grip his and hold on <em>tight. </em>“Jenny,” he whispered again, low and liquid in a way he hadn’t used since his Ripper days. “Come on, darling. Get that skirt off, why don’t you?”</p><p>Jenny shivered; with another twist of his hips, she <em>moaned. </em>“Rupert—”</p><p>Giles tugged her down closer, pressing his mouth to her neck and nipping gently at her skin. He could feel her all but shaking against him, and it felt <em>unbearably </em>good. He hadn’t paid enough attention, last time, to the way it felt when he <em>knew </em>he had Jenny hot and bothered. He hadn’t been able to do that for far too long. He hadn’t appreciated it when he could. Couldn’t have <em>possibly </em>appreciated it as much as he did right now.</p><p><em>“Ru</em>pert—” There was a pleading note to Jenny’s voice.</p><p>Giles pulled back, examining his handiwork. He didn’t know if the love bites would linger, but he liked the look of them at her neck. Consummate professionals had to be careful about hickeys, and Jenny hated turtlenecks far too much for him to ever be able to risk it. But now— “You’re beautiful,” he said, because he didn’t think he told her that enough.</p><p>Jenny blinked, then colored, smiling softly in a way that only he could ever really evoke. Pulling herself carefully up, she straddled his hips, then undid her skirt, clambering off him only to discard skirt and knickers alike. Naked, she moved back towards him—</p><p>“Wait,” said Giles.</p><p>Jenny let out an adorably frustrated <em>huff, </em>glowering. <em>“Rupert—”</em></p><p>Giles sat up, placing a hand at her waist. It was quite unfair of him to take advantage of how touch-starved she was, he knew, but the handful of seconds she spent distracted by the physicality of him <em>touching </em>her were seconds he could use to flip them around, press her into the pillows, kiss her again, and begin to trail careful, deliberate kisses down her body.</p><p>He’d been expecting some level of combativeness regarding what he was doing. After her death, Jenny had become single-mindedly determined that <em>his </em>satisfaction was more important than her own, if only because her own was significantly less attainable. But Jenny was letting out little shuddering breaths as Giles kissed the spot between her breasts, her ribs, her stomach— “You don’t object?” he said, then pressed a fluttering, fleeting kiss to her inner thigh.</p><p>“You <em>asshole,” </em>Jenny gasped out, and grabbed his hair, pulling him just a <em>little </em>bit to the right.</p><p><em>This </em>was the same as it had always been. He wasn’t sure if it was warmth he’d managed to share with her or warmth—somehow—brought to them by moonlight and magic, but Jenny <em>was </em>warm against his mouth, quivering as he pressed his tongue into her. Warm fingers tangling roughly in his hair, warm thighs against his cheek, warm inside and outside just like she’d always been. Just like she’d never left. And she <em>hadn’t</em> left, had clawed her way back from the grave to <em>be </em>with him, and he had to make sure she knew how good it felt to have her here, how good he wanted to <em>make </em>her feel as long as she <em>was </em>here, this wonderful woman, this woman he loved—</p><p>He felt Jenny gasp, her thighs tightening around his head, and her hands gripped his hair almost painfully. She shuddered again, then fell back against the pillows, slack and breathless.</p><p>Giles waited a moment, pressed a more affectionate kiss to her thigh, then moved up the bed to lean down over her. She smiled up at him, starry-eyed and happy in a way he hadn’t seen her since—no, he hadn’t <em>ever </em>seen her smile like this, and the realization stole breath from <em>him. </em>She didn’t say anything, just tugged at his shoulder until he was kissing her again—and he could feel her hands at his waist, pushing his pants down and away. He managed to awkwardly help her with that one, tossing them over his shoulder when they were done.</p><p>Jenny was underneath him. Against him. Her eyes were very bright, her smile very warm, as she pulled him down against her—uncaring of his weight, or her size, or <em>anything </em>but getting him as close to her as possible. Giles could relate very easily to that sentiment. “Come here,” she whispered, as though he was impossibly far away and she’d die if he didn’t get close to her in the next second. “Baby, come <em>here—”</em></p><p>Giles nudged her legs apart. “Can I—”</p><p>“Honey,” said Jenny, who had always been quite liberal with the pet names post-orgasm, <em>“what do you think we are trying to do right now.”</em></p><p>This was a fairly good point, but Giles still found himself hesitant. It had been—so long—since he and Jenny had been truly together like this. Would it be different? Better? Worse? Exactly, painfully, the same?</p><p>And then Jenny fixed him with a positively smoldering look that knocked all conscious thought out of Giles’s mind. What was left instead was the memories of half a year apart, of Jenny all-the-way-there in spirit but <em>never </em>solid enough to touch, of ghostly facsimiles that were as pleasurable as sex but still left him wishing he could make <em>her </em>feel the way <em>he </em>felt—</p><p>He moved forward and into her without overthinking it, and then didn’t need to think about it at all.</p><p>Jenny’s nails dug into his back as she tried to pull him impossibly deeper, and he wanted to tell her—<em>leave marks where I can see them. </em>He wanted bruises at his neck, scratches at his shoulders, anything and everything that would <em>prove </em>she had been <em>here.</em> Her nose bumped against his; she kissed him, hard and almost violent, and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. There was a passionate desperation to their lovemaking that hadn’t existed when she was alive—he supposed it was because neither of them knew if they would ever really get this chance again. Not outside carefully drawn wards, not in the sunlight, not everything the world owed them—</p><p>Jenny pulled back, squirming into the pillows with a breathlessly happy grin—and suddenly Giles was brought back to a thousand other times they’d found themselves like this. Happier times, certainly, but they’d both been so weighed down with secrets and misery that they hadn’t been able to recognize how fucking <em>lucky </em>they were. How fucking lucky <em>he </em>was, now, to be inside her, to have kiss-bruised lips and places where her touch had broken the skin.</p><p>He slowed his thrusts to a less forceful pace, pressing soft, languid kisses to her mouth in a way that felt wholly new. Her hands snuck up to cup his face as they moved, and very deliberately, she said, “Rupert. I am going to be tangible for a very short amount of time. <em>Fuck me into the mattress.”</em></p><p>Giles smiled a bit. Soft and tender had never really been Jenny’s style for all that long. But he knew how to play the game: kissing her with pointed gentleness, he slowed their pace even <em>further.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Rupert!”</em>
</p><p>“I just love you <em>so </em>much, Jenny,” said Giles, kissing her again. “So <em>ardently—”</em></p><p>“Oh my fucking god,” said Jenny, pushing at his chest until he was the one pinned against the mattress (which, as it happened, put them both in their ideal position). Straddling him, Jenny braced her hands against his shoulders, dipping her head down to press biting kisses to his throat and chest. He pulled her flush against him, enjoying the way her hands pushed him back into the pillows—the way she was <em>here, </em>and holding him down in a way that made it clear she was beautifully fucking real.</p><p>“So I suppose <em>I’m </em>the one getting fucked into the mattress, hmm?” he said breathlessly.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. That can be next full moon.” Jenny kissed him again, a kiss that was the perfect mixture of sharp and tender. “And <em>don’t </em>distract me, I’m setting the pace.”</p><p>“God forbid I prevent you from keeping <em>tempo—”</em></p><p>Jenny shut him up with another bruising kiss—not to his mouth, but to the spot between neck and shoulder, stinging in a way that made Giles <em>certain </em>there would be a mark in the morning. God, he hoped there would be marks. Things he could look at and remind himself of this night, roses around them, glass on the floor, champagne wasted because she was too beautiful for him to keep the bottle in hand—</p><p>The memories of another, darker night seemed unimportant, now. Immaterial. What was real was <em>Jenny, </em>him buried inside her, her breath at his neck, her hands on his chest—he hadn’t been touched like <em>this</em> since her death, and he’d thought <em>she </em>was starved for <em>his </em>touch—</p><p>He came so hard he thought he might see stars.</p><p>Distantly, he recognized Jenny tighten and quiver around him, felt her fall back against his chest with a gasp, but all of that suddenly seemed very far away from—god, from how <em>happy </em>he was. Really, properly happy in a way he’d never have wanted to admit to Jenny, because he’d promised that what they had was enough, but—but <em>this. </em>This was what they’d<em> wanted.</em></p><p>Jenny’s head on his chest was a comfortingly familiar weight. Exhausted, Giles let himself fall into a blissful, heavy sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>He woke slowly, and as such, the fact that there was someone curled into his side wasn’t something that he immediately questioned. The first part of his brain to wake up said, happily, <em>Jenny, </em>disregarding the fact that the morning sunlight was shining in and the full moon was <em>long </em>gone. As his head began to clear, he was able to recognize the feeling of a small hand tangled with his, silvery-dark hair spilling over his arm, Jenny’s soft cheek on his chest. But—</p><p><em>“Jenny,” </em>said Giles suddenly, his heart flipping over. Because the morning had come, and she once again looked translucent and strange in that endearingly ghostly way, but—</p><p>Jenny opened her eyes, smiling up at him in a way that suggested that she’d had a few hours to revel in what he himself had only now discovered. “That spell’s worn off,” she said, “but we didn’t really look up what it <em>did, </em>did we?”</p><p>“Wh-what?”</p><p>“Full moon spells aren’t usually a one-time thing, Rupert,” said Jenny, her smile growing. “I was too focused on making this thing happen to remember, but what we did—”</p><p>“Full moon spells are often <em>rituals,” </em>said Giles weakly.</p><p>“And harnessing the power of the moon—plus throwing in some pretty intense sex—might leave us with a few side effects,” said Jenny. Her hand tightened its grip on his, her smile quivering with a disbelieving happiness. “Like me staying solid, even when I’m not corporeal.”</p><p>“Can you feel me?”</p><p>In answer, Jenny’s eyes sparkled. “You totally need to take better care of your hands, Rupert, they’re callused as <em>fuck—”</em></p><p>With a tearful laugh, Giles pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. She was still ghost-cold against him, but he could <em>feel </em>her—and he didn’t think he’d ever let go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>honestly? i still have a few more ideas for this au. can't promise i won't come back.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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